


DRAGON BERSERK

by mimuranda



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Battle, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kings & Queens, M/M, Multi, Sex, Slaves, Time Travel, Vikings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 08:21:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22847086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimuranda/pseuds/mimuranda
Summary: They did it. They prevented Armageddon, they had finally managed what they had been working at during eleven years (and actually, Aziraphale was beginning to think, millennia) and they had went ride off their offices. The angel was allowing himself to think that, finally, he could low the mask and think about what he actually wanted, what he actually wanted, what he desired. And God knew, he had wanted it for a long, long time.Little he knew things were going to be a little more difficult that he expected.  And just when Aziraphale thought he might begin to be free to tell Crowley what he means to him, he wakes up in another time, another country, another reality. He’ll soon discover that everything comes with a price, even for a (sadly-not-anymore) angel.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Crowley/Gabriel (Good Omens), Crowley/Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 28





	1. PROLOGUE: VULNERABLE

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Good Omens. I am completely into this fandom right now and I have to say I was so inspired by lots of fics, fanarts and comics, that you are going to find inches of other works into this one. It is completely intentional. Actually, in this first chapter there is a reference to "Alexandria,48BC", a fancomic by smudgeandfrank you can find on instagram (you should check, just incredible), and you'll probably also find references to nixarim's "Before the Falling" and whiteleyfoster's "Prince of Omens" works too. Because they are just stunning and if you are a fan, then you should go and read those. And some others fics that were such an inspiration. 
> 
> Anyway, this is an AU with vikings vibes even if not a crossover. Wanted to put vikings and slaves nobility so i did. There will be angst because I am addicted to it. Also will be available on FanFiction.Net

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAMER
> 
> I do not own Good Omens. I am completely into this fandom right now and I have to say I was so inspired by lots of fics, fanarts and comics, that you are going to find inches of other works into this one. It is completly intentional. Actually, in this first chapter there is a reference to "Alexandría,48BC", a fancomic by smudgeandfrank you can find on instagram (you should check, just incredible), and you'll probably also find references to nixarim's "Before the Falling" and whiteleyfoster's "Prince of Omens" works too. Because they are just stunning and if you are a fan, then you should go and read those. And some others fics that were such an inspiration
> 
> Anyway, this is an AU with vikings vibes even if not a crossover. Wanted to put vikings and slaves nobility so i did. There will be angst because I am addicted to it. Also will be avalaible on FanFiction.Net
> 
> English is not my mother tongue, so please be gentle with mistakes.

"It burned down, remember?" asked Crowley and his voice was sorrowful, he was very aware of. And he hated it. Hated that it was too obvious that he cared, and couldn't keep himself for being nice, and soft.

It made him feel vulnerable, and indeed he was, he could feel his heart broke when the angel's face saddened. He should be used by now. After more than 6000 years of slow burn pinning, sometimes he was still amazed to feel his heart painful beating in his chest. Damned this corporation. He had tried to miracle it away more than once, but each time he did the emptiness he felt was overwhelming and he just could not bear it.

He preferred to feel hurt each time he saw his blond companion knowing he could not touch him, barely talk to him or be his friend — at least he thought that at the beginning, and he was often surprised that they had managed to establish some sort of friendship — than to look at him and feel nothing.

He knew it would have been preferable, for his mental health and his happiness — if a demon was ever worth such a thing — but he just couldn't. Because as much as it pained him, the angel companionship made him also feel such good things — a sentiment of wholeness and well-being and warmth— that, for a moment, Crowley was able to forget that he was Fallen.

That he was a demon.

Aziraphale had that effect on him. So yes, he was worth the pain, the suffering…he was worth everything.

Worth burning his feet, and worth risking being discorporated, worth feeling his heart ripped away when the angel had told him they were fraternizing or that he was too fast for him. He knew the angel had mean no harm by that, so Crowley had understood. But more than anything, Crowley was scared. Because when Aziraphale had said he was too fast, then he had understood he was reaching a limit. Letting them being more close they should even been. What had been thinking? He was a demon, and he was corrupting an angel only because he was not able to control himself, because he had to feel love — his punishment being much torturous than expected— for someone that was out of his grasp, and because Aziraphale's presence was intoxicating.  
He'll die eventually of it, he knew it. He knew it with the certainty angels know they have wings.

At first, Crowley had not been aware of what he was feeling. He was not sure when everything had begun, but he was pretty sure it have been since the garden. Maybe when he had first seen him? Or when he had told him he gave his sword away? Or maybe was it when he had covered him with his pearl-white wing?

He didn't know exactly, but it doesn't mattered anymore, did it? The fact was, he had fallen twice, and as terrible as the first has been, there was nothing comprable to the second one. It was a continuous fall, a sweet torture.

And as many thing, they are less real when you experience it but do not acknowledge it. Crowley hadn't acknowledge for quite a long time. Because he was stubborn, probably, even if not as much as Aziraphale. He only thought that he was content because he had some kind of company, and that kindly mocking the angel was just so funny.

But then had came the Roman Empire, with the oysters. There, he had begun to wonder what was wrong with him….why he felt the world was brighter when the angel smiled, and why he wanted to be with him all the time. He had begun to feel a bit anxious about it, and scared too. Except he didn't really know what fear was until Alexandria.

Alexandria, 48 B.C.

That date was marked with fire in Crowley’s memory. His gaze slipped, from his angels lips — shit, he has been staring again, luckily Aziraphale hadn't been noticing, too busy drinking wine directly from the bottle — to his right forearm. He couldn't see it, hidden by the all the layers the angel insisted on wearing even during summer, but he knew it was there. Under the suit, the pale, soft skin of Aziraphale had been irremediably burnt, and it had been Crowley's fault. And he knew that for that, he couldn't forgive himself.  
Ever.  
But Aziraphale could. And Aziraphale had done. And it had been at that moment he had known, with terrible, freezing, deathly certainty, that he was completely, utterly in love with him.

That he was lost.

"Shit….Shit! G-G-God! God, please! I am begging you….please don't let Aziraphale die! I know you hate me for falling….and you probably won't hear me… but please, save him. He is…he is….the one good thing in my good damned existence …"  
Those words he had pronounced, the prayer he had done, the deal, the debt he had passed with God…

Crowley still felt the tears coming back to his eyelids each time he thought about it, an he felt the hotness of the library of Alexandria being destroyed, and how his entire soul had collapsed along his knees when he had seen that Aziraphale was not breathing.  
It had been the worst moment of his entire existence. Until….until the bookshop had burnt too and it wasn't able to feel Aziraphale anymore. In a moment, he was back at Alexandria, powerless, meaningless and his world was collapsing again, except it was worse, because he had tell him that he wouldn't need him, that he would not think about him. And that had been the last words he had directed to him.

How can you be so stupid? he thought, how could you be so mean?

Telling such an obvious lye, hurting him again, even when you promised….you promised to God herself you filfthy demon.

He looked at Aziraphale, at those blue, deep-as-the-ocean eyes, and he talked, just for avoiding the silence. Silences had never been a problem between them, but Crowley was at the verge of tears, and he was thankful he was wearing his glasses because he wouldn't know what to do if Aziraphale saw him crying. He felt desperate.

"You could come to my place….if you wanted" he invited. His throat felt constricted and he was losing control. The necessity of hugging Aziraphale was becoming an urgent fire in his chest.

Keep calm, keep cool. You can do it, Crowley. You have been pretending for millennia, you can do it for a few hours.

Maybe inviting him to his place was not the best of ideas (not the best way to avoid temptation ) but there was no way he would leave the angel homeless.

He couldn't avoid to be worried for him, as he couldn't avoid to try to please him in every way he could. Even when he teased him.

Crowley would kill, and would die for him.

And he tried, he tried so much not to show it, because he knew, he had always known, that it could put Aziraphale in danger, that his foolish, unravelled, stupid friendship, and lust, and love and complete devotion for the angel could kill them both. He had surrendered to a friendship, because he was not strong enough to keep himself far from him, but not in a million years he would risk his life. Not again.

Something brightened in the angel stunning eyes, something warm, but he seemed to doubt when he say.

"I do not think my lot would be very fond on that idea".

Before he could stop himself, Crowley was already answering:

"You don't have a lot anymore. Neither of us have. We are on our side"  
And then, a light smile on Aziraphale lips — lips he would worship forever if he was allowed to — and his heart ached.

Maybe he might allow himself to hope, to, for once, be vulnerable. Maybe this was a new beginning.


	2. Sinful

“We are on our own side“

Those where the last memories that were clear in his head. After that, everything was blurry. Dizzy memories he could not recall correctly. He was aware of being alongside with Crowley, though, of his calming, comforting presence within him. Of the feeling of reached freedom. He remembered he had thought that he could finally relax a bit, even if long habits dye hard.

“I do not think my lot would be very fond on that idea” had he say. For God’s sake, what was he thinking about? He finally had a lifetime opportunity of being with Crowley as he wanted, willingly and without having to look over his shoulder all the time, and he had almost stupidly lost it.

Luckily for him, Crowley had been so amazing as always, and he had insisted. God, why was he so good? Why was he so incredibly kind and good-hearted and just the most caring being on existence?

“We are on our own side” he had said, and Aziraphale had felt pure joy filling his whole soul.

“Our own side”. Their side. Crowley’s side.

Yes, yes, yes. He wanted it. He had wanted for to long, but he couldn’t. Mustn’t.

The consequences could have been terrible. Almost had. A chill ran over his spin. Two violet eyes flashed in his memory. The weight of the threats…

For millennia, Aziraphale had felt like a coward. He has been for so long. A coward, at first, for not being able to acknowledge what he really felt, thinking it was it’s loving angel nature — ah! — and then rejecting those feelings and putting all the responsibility over Crowley’s demon nature. Of him tempting Aziraphale.

What an horrible person he was.

The truth was Crowley being a demon had nothing to do with it. The truth was he couldn’t help him but to need Crowley, because he was the most incredible being in the whole universe. Because why someone like him would have fallen when Gabriel was still an angel was completely incomprehensible in his mind.

It was unfair, even if…

Even if, actually, he secretly liked Crowley being a demon. He didn’t know how he had been before (and he had not allowed to wonder too much about it because he feared the answer) but he thought that it suited him. That the demonic element made a part of what Crowley was, that somehow it made him that brave, and spontaneous, and cool , and that, evrn if he was not evil, it made him more interesting. He wondered if he had been interested at all if he had been a fellow angel. He liked the demon for what he was, every single inch of him.

Loved him.

There was it.

The terrifying truth that he had denied for so long. Of course he had always cared, and there was nothing wrong about that. But one thing was being worried for the well-being of his one demonic accuracy, and another very different one was to accept….accept…God.

Even now, knowing deep down Crowley had become his everything, it was difficult for him to put it into words. He was to used to lie to himself. It was easier.

Except that there were those awesome golden snake eyes, and the mischievous smirk in Crowley’s lips, and the angel felt his heart melting at each time. And there where each rescue the demon had performed for him, there were his kind words, his demeanour everything.

Oh had be everything would be simpler if it was only lust.

Because Crowley was a temptation all by himself, almost a sin in which he would indulge, and Aziraphale had accepted that long ago.

**********************  
What a funny thing, don’t you think, dear Reader, that the angel of the duo was more comfortable with the reality he had lusted his friend for now centuries, but not that he loved him? And that, on the other hand, Crowley knew, almost since the beginning that he was in love and accepted shameless?

I know, God has a twisted sense of humor. But let’s not involve Her in this story. The fact were that the main difference between those two ineffable idiots was that Crowley was ready to sacrifice everything for having at least a little piece of Aziraphale, at least his friendship; while the angel didn’t dare to risk anything if that mean lost what he already had. Slightly difference, I know, but was the reason Aziraphale had issues accepting he loved the demon.

Aziraphale felt as deep as Crowley, but Aziraphale was still blind about so many things. Crowley knew what he would do for the angel, but the angel still had to discovered it.

I would like to say that they used the post-apocalypse time for it, that they finally confessed in a romantic embrace, that it was intimate and sweet. I really, really would.

But I am only the Narrator, a meaningless voice in the void. I cannot do as I want, I only can tell you what happened.

Well, Aziraphale was going to discover it, that for sure. Wasn’t going to be easy, nor painless.

But let’s not foreshadow events. Let’s come back to the angel.

The angel that lusted his friend.

***************************

At last, for an Angel, Aziraphale was sinful. The same way Crowley made a poor excuse of a demon, Aziraphale was not better. He knew Crowley would heavily disagree, arguing he was the only “ true angel among that bunch of bastards”, but Crowley was too kind to really understand, and his words only made him even more fond of the demon, which didn’t help at all.

He was not a good angel.

A principality, and still not half the warrior he should be.

A messenger of the Almighty,that should not interfere, and still he had done it so many times.

And most of all, Aziraphale was sinful.

He had long ago fallen into greed and pride, through his bookshop and his precious belongings, and the way he dressed, and his standards. He was secretly envious of so many things and people that he barely thought about it, because doing it was almost unbearable. The only reason he had not fully embraced his envy was because he loved too much. But some days, the bad ones (yes even angels could have bad days) Aziraphale had serious problems to overcome his envy.

Sloth, at least, was clearly not something he related. Always had been hard-working type, nor was wrath…

But even God Herself must know by now how he had quickly embraced gluttony.

Gabriel’s mean words came back to his mind “Why do you sully the temple of your body with such grass matter?” had he disdainful asked.

He knew he shouldn’t listen to Gabriel, but the fact he was such a disrespectful idiot didn’t mean he wasn’t right.

And once he had embraced gluttony…what difficulty should he encounter to fall into lust? With such a beautiful being like Crowley in his proximity?

Easy.

Too easy.

He was hungry and thirsty, so fucking thirsty for Crowley.

Crowley stunning fire hair, Crowley’s beautiful slim, delicate body, both in male and female corporation, Crowley’s demeanour, Crowley’s deep voice, even his smell…

Driving him crazy when he stood too close.

A closeness he actually wished with all his soul.

But, things had changed.

Now he had an opportunity, didn’t he?

“Our own side”

Pity he didn’t know what happened later. Pity he had opened his eyes in that disgusting space, and above all, oh, pity he was not with Crowley anymore. His heart stretched with fear.

Crowley was not with him but he had been. He had been, until recently, and he had promised they were on their side now.

He looked around him, at the cellar he was in. It was cold. It was cold, and small and dirty. It smelled awful.

He looked at his hands.

Covered in blood.

Aziraphale closed his eyes, trying to keep calm.

Breathe. Think.

He looked at his clothes.

Well , that for sure were not his clothes. At least, they were not the clothes he was wearing at the bus stop, before everything else went black.

First, he would never put that much black and blue. And second, he was sure he was wearing his coat, last time he checked. It was nowhere to be seen. His bow tie had disappeared , and…he touched the necklaced he was wearing. Where those gold and diamonds?

He took a deeper breath.

Keep calm. There must be an explanation for all this.

He tried to quickly clean the blood he had in his hands against his- not his- trousers. He felt uncomfortable, that for sure, he though, trying to cover the fact he was feeling nauseous.

You are a smart angel. Be smart - he commanded to himself.

OK, so he didn’t know where he was, neither how he had ended there, in some strange clothes and covered in blood.

He tried not to think whose blood that might be.

But, he knew he had been with Crowley until then. So.

Find him. Everything will be better once you find him. Once we are together.

He smiled, felling a bit better. It was obvious, he should have begun with that. He felt a bit ashamed he had not think about that before.

You are a mess when you feel lost , Aziraphale.

The angel closed his eyes one more time, and he concentrated, releasing his spirit, letting his aura go further his corporation.

Everything was going to be OK.

Except…

He suddenly opened his eyes, gasping.

No.

No, no, no, no.

He could not feel Crowley. He felt the panic raising in his chest, and breathing became difficult. He could not feel…he could not feel a damn thing.

His eyes were filled with tears, and as he collapsed to the ground, he reached a hand to his back.

He couldn’t even feel his wings. He couldn’t feel his halo.

His heart froze, his throat constricted.

And then, Aziraphale screamed. Screamed with all his strength.

His grace had been taken away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody thanks for reading! I know i am a very sloooow writer, but i am working on the next chapters. I only wanted to let you know that the whoooole plot is ready and that I will finish this story no matter what. Hope you don't get impatient. Please if you read this story and like it, let me know on the comentaries, it helps a lot to keep being motivated to work on it <3


	3. Prisoner

Aziraphale didn't know exactly how much time his have been screaming, didn't know when he had beginning crying, and had lost the count of how much time had been on the floor, bracing himself and mumbling indistinctly Crowley's name.

He didn't know, but it has been long enough for him to feel asleep in the hard, clearly uncomfortable ground, and to waken up once, twice, in the complete darkness of his prison. There was no more light entering the small, rectangular window in the left corner of the cellar. His eyes had been burning, and his throat constricted and painful, but nothing was more painful that his heart aching endlessly in hist ribcage.

"Crowley" he had said, and it has been as drinking arsenic. His vocal cords burning and his lips completely dry and parched. Thinking of him was the only thing he managed to do. He had to think about him, about his smile, the hair he liked so much, about Crowley being Crowley if he didn't want to become completly insane.

It was the best way to avoid the fear to take control over him. Now he couldn't feel him, the worriness about where he was and if he was ok was completly overwhelming, and at some point, it was just too much to even alow him to think.

Because if there was something ever worse than to lose his grace was to lose Crowley, and that froze him to his core. He was not allowed to think that, it was a shame he thought something bad might have happen to Crowley, because he was smart, and brave and resourceful and he will not let him be captured or whatever was happening so him.

The demon was the one who saved him, and there was no way he could not being safe because if it was Aziraphale's duty to save him now, then he feared he might not be able to do so. And he could not bare living in a world where Crowley might get injured because of him or worse, a world withou-

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, avoiding to finish that sentence in his head.

But it had become a sob, and the sob had transformed into a cry as his worst fear sank into his mind.

He had screamed again, and again, and had cried and then yelled and then had passed out.

Once again awake, he had been so angry about himself. He cannot allowed himself to lost control like that, for God's sake! What was so wrong with him?

Then a few tears had rolled down his cheeks, and his only tought as he let them rolling freely had been "Oh God, why?? ".

Because he might have been a very sinful angel all his existance, he would never have thought She would do something like that happen to him, and the realization it actually it might been happening was heartbreaking.

A bit after that, when his eyes where dry and he had cried out all the tears of his body, he vanished into unconsciousness again.

At some moments there was some light coming from the small window, at others, where he woke there was darkness. He preferred darkness. Felt less exposed, even if there was nobody to come there. Sometimes he found a dish of meat and some water. He didn't know who was feeding him, but clearly his captors came when he was unconscious.

Then he had fallen asleep again and again. He didn't know how many days have passed.

He felt so tired, he almost didn't touch the food, which was clearly a sign something was very wrong, Aziraphale not eating. He almost could see Crowley's expression of disbelief had he been there.

He had never needed it, but always enjoyed it. But now, he had discovered that after some time, when his throath had become so dry he was almost thinking he had lost his voice and his begun to feel a bit dizzy When his stomach had grumbled, he finally had understood that he needed to eat and to drink.

Then he had almost throw himself over the untouched dish .

The water had brought some relief, but the food gave him nausea. He finished the whole water, which was in an argile pot, and it was like going into a heaven light beacon. He felt instantly better, and once more, he slipped into unconsciousness.  
When he woke up for a countless time, feeling a bit stronger and less dizzy, his head clearer, the idea began formed in his mind.

A crooked smile formed in his face, and he let escape a unnatural sound that might have been a laugh once, but now was only a depraved ghost of his expression of joy. It was empty, and it was broken, and when he finished, Aziraphale felt his lungs aching.  
That must be a dream.

There could possibly not be another logical explanation than all that being a dream, or to be more specific a nightmare.

He thought of Crowley, how much he enjoyed sleeping, and sighted. He had never told him, but Aziraphale disliked sleeping because he rarely had pleasant dreams.

And this one was being persistent.

A fucking nightmare, that gave him goosebumps and was driving in completely mad.

How else could he explain what was been happening to him?

How else could have lost his grace but not been fallen?

It was impossible other way. Not angel could lost his powers, his holiness, his very essence and not being fallen. Fallen or utterly destroyed, whole soul completely ripped out of existence. But only Hell Fire and Holy Water respectively had that effect on ethereal beings, and he clearly had not being in contact with none of those. Only one drop, only one spark, and they were would be off. Angels and demons had inmortal lives, but mortal souls, on the contrary of humans. When they were gone, they where gone forever.  
And some humans feared Death - he thought bitterly, and so unlike him he might have worried about it.

But the whole situation was already weird and worrying enough to have a second thought on if he was being nice, or even fair, or not.

How do they dare fear Death, when they had so little to loss? Unlike Aziraphale, they had full, well-filled lives, and then they had the afterlife. They had that chance. It was up to them if they ended upstairs or downstairs, but at least, they had that.

He clenched his jaw and his fist. If he lost Crowley, he lost him for real. How was that even comparable to any evil that might be done to humans in Earth? And they dared, they dared complain about their existence! Oh God, how he ha--

He inhaled sharply at the realization he was letting his envy take control over him, and he gasp when he opened his fist and saw the red mark his nails, which were not perfectly manicured anymore, but dirty and full of dust, had left on his palm. He blinked and then something awful felt his chest as he looked at the trace his wrath had done in his hand.

He was acting pathetically, and completely out of character, and so humanly letting his emotions taking control over him.

Humanly.

He opened his mouth, completely wide.

"Human" he realized, and then, then his heart stopped in his chest.

But that was not possible.

No way.

It was the worst nightmare Aziraphale had ever had.


	4. Murderer

He tried to wake up, to escape of the dream, but just bring back to conscience, but it proved to be more difficult he thought at first. 

He sighted, meditation had not worked, and neither had done just sleep and wait. Apparently he was not escaping from that dream very soon.

Because, he was pretty convinced it was a dream. He had quickly buried deep down in his mind the idea he had become human, and never had a thought about it again.

Furthermore, it made sense that it was a dream, he decided now a bit calmer. Maybe, probably was he at Crowley's flat. Maybe had they fallen asleep because they were exhausted.

Something warm blew in his chest, at the thought that maybe it was that that have happened, that Crowley not only had welcomed him into his home, but also let him sleep. Not he doubted the demon would be willingly to give him some rest, just that it would be such an invasion of his intimacy. Such a proof of trust.

Maybe even where they sharing a bed?

Oh God, how much he missed him. He breathed and he tried to calm his heartbreaking.

True was he had not a clue what my have happened. But he hoped so hard it was something like that. So hard it hurt.

In any case, he could only work with what he knew.

So dream be it.

Aziraphale knew, for the few times he had allowed it to sleep, that he could do little thing about it. It was not often he had acknowledge he was dreaming, but when he happened, he knew it changed little thing. It gave him the power to do things inside the dream, but the dream will go on without asking his permission.

Damn sleeping and this whole dreaming stuff.

So he had no choice. Unless...

There was one idea left. One crazy but still persistent one. He thought about that movie he had saw once with Crowley. From time to time, Crowley convinced him to watch a movie with him, and Aziraphale indulged, of course he did. Even if he was a bit grumpy in appearance, it was a little repay to each time he had bored Crowley on books topics, and even convinced him to read. The demon had always accepted, and at those moments, that made him wondered for a moment who was supposed to be the tempter.

He rarely over though about that wondering, because it gave him so much hope that maybe, maybe Crowley didn't act only on mere friendship, and it aches in his chest so much at those moments.

So Aziraphale just nodded and followed him, because he knew Crowley loved that and anyway most of the films the demon chose where interesting enough to catch his attention, and he usually offered him popcorns and sweets!-- if only he knew, dear Reader, that at those moments Crowley paid only attention to him, because it was the perfect excuse for him to look at the angel in the security of the darkness (and anyway he had already watched the movie) to look at him lost in the story, to observe his features and the way he eaten and his delightful expression and his blue eyes illuminated by the light of the screen -- after what they had wine a nice chat.

"Inception" it was called.

Quite a good movie, he must admitted. About dreams. And in that movie, one of the ways of awaken was to...

He swallowed.

The idea of suicide was an aberration for a being of the Almighty like Aziraphale was -- or had being, because in that dream he clearly was not- almost antinatural.

But there was something else.

As much convinced as he might be about being dreaming (Aziraphale could be very stubborn) there was still a shade of doubt. 

The threatening weight of that sentence, what if?

In normal circumstances, it would have been merely discorporation. But...

But that was being a very vivid dream, the way he needed food and drink now, and how he back had begun to ache from sleeping on the ground, and how he felt cold at night - something he had not realized at first, too tired and weak and lost, but that he clearly felt now - and the constant tiredness.

What if something went wrong? What if he was mistaken or even worse, what if, like in the movie, his sleep was too deep and he lost himself in the deepness of his ethereal mind?

He didn't know how long he could be asleep. Crowley had token naps for decades and centuries even (and Aziraphale had hated it when it took too long). What if he could not come back?

What if he left Crowley alone with Hell and Heaven looking for they revenge?

He tried not to think to much about it, but they both knew there was a possibility they come after them. He thought about Agnes last profecy and clenched his jaw. He hoped Crowley could figure it by himself, in case he will not wake up in time.  
He trusted Crowley with his life, so he knew he could probably find a solution (he always did) but he felt terrible not being able to help him.

Even if, surely, he woke up before, because it was a dream, and even if he had the impression he had been in that cell for so long, probably in reality it had only been a few hours. He clenched himself into that idea.

And despite it all.....he felt like such a coward.

*****************************

At some point, Aziraphale decided that , as he was trapped, he should probably go on with the dream and explore a little bit. He had always had a curious mind, quite of a scientific soul, and feeling a bit better after having regained some strength and decided that self-complaining was not going to change anything, he had decided it was maybe the opportunity of discovering interesting stuff, maybe about his mind, his emotions, his dreams.

Why was he dreaming he was a prisoner? Why was he dreaming he was wearing that way?

And the most disturbing thing, why had he his hands covered in blood?

There was a lot of blood, he observed thanks to the light that entered the ceiling. It had dried at the time (how many fakes days had he passed in the ceiling? At least three or for, he estimated) and now that Aziraphale was having a better look at it, there was much more he had at first thought. The red liquid had stained all over his jacket and trousers, becoming almost completly brown. His hands had been completely crimson, even if now it had mixed with the dust and dirt of his cell, and the vital fluid had stained even to his sleeves. He had no mirror, but he highly suspected even his face and maybe his hair had some blood of it.

He felt sick. He shallowed when he touched the the oddly quite beautiful pattern the blood had formed on his wrist. Whose what that blood? It was clear it was not his blood, he had checked his corporation and there was not a single trace of injuries.  
The thing that worried him the most - even if he reminded himself none of that was real- was that the pattern of the stains. He had read enough -- and, sadly, live enough-- to know how blood was split out of a body. Those stains crawled along his clothes and skin, as it the blood have been split suddenly, in such a violent way. It was something only a white-weapon could do, and by the amount of blood it had on him, that means he had to be very very close to the victim.

Really, even with the non-sense of a dream, what was the possibility he had not hold the murderous weapon?

*********************************  
So, he had attacked someone. Great. Wonderful.

Controlling the sense of panic that was rising through his chest, he focused on analysing the rest of the information he could collect.

Dreams often were about deepest desires or fears. And of course he could not have dreamt of a dinner at the Ritz with Crowley, oh no.

Trying not to lost himself in that tempting fantasy he focused.

So if he had attacked someone and that was not a random kind of dream, maybe he had built his mind a coherent fiction, and therefore, it was logical that if he had armed someone, he had been put in prison.

He inspected his clothes. They were incredibly rich that for sure.

Only the necklace he was wearing could buy an entire country. It was made in the finest gold and diamonds. Aziraphale had become quite a connaisseur throughout the ages. He had been in many courts over the ages and had observed with an appreciative smirk the wealth of kings and queens, their ostentatious way of life, and the skills of the finest artists, even if he had never wore them himself. Too much ostentatious. Would have been pride, and doubted he had suited him.

He had standards, but never had been that flashy. But he had always wondered how good they could have been on Crowley. He thought of Ancient Greece and Egypt, where he had often presented himself as a God or Goddess (such blasfemous and delightfully mischievous of him) and only in that occasions he had allowed himself to wear a few jewels. He tried not to foccus on the beautiful, heavenly curves of Crowley when she had showed herself as Aphrodite once. He sometimes thought about it. It was hard to forget that image, and he had hated her for quite a time after that, for making him feel so weak. In the end it was a beautiful souvenir he kept for himself, even if he would never, ever, confess that to the demon.

He touched the necklace, observed for the first time the marks on it. There was no doubt. It had many ancient books that presented that kind of beautiful handwriting.

They were runes. Scandinavian runes.

Aziraphale spoke all the languages of the world and history. It was an old version, some kind of a predecessor, of Norwegian.

He admired the shape of each runes, that formed something that approximately could be translated into modern languages by the words "Peace" and "Harmony".

Such an irony.

So. He was, apparently, in ancient Scandinavia, or something like that.

That was....interesting, at least.

A nostalgic feeling hit him. He hadn't been in the northerns countries for a few centuries, but the last time had been in Sami territories, somewhere in the north of Finland, under the boreal aurora, with Crowley.

He observed his clothes.

They were quite beautiful, with a gorgeous shade of Prussian blue and black. They were soft and comfortable, even if they were now dirty and crumpled. They had the shape of early middle-age, and he was quite sure that it was some kind os slave style, one that reminded quite the style that was used in the noble families of what nowadays was called Bielorussia.

He frowned. That was weird. It didn't fit with the necklace and its runes. Maybe was he mistaken in his guessing?

If he was somehow around the XIth century, more or less, then the Vikings and Slavic countries where not on good terms.

He sighed. Maybe he was over-thinking, maybe there was not coherence at all.

He was lost observing his knuckles --there was bruises and had just noticed it-- when he heard a noise. Someone was approaching.

*******************  
The man that approached was clearly a Viking.

Everything in his robes, his hair, his tattoos was screaming his appartenance to that ancient race, and his pride of being one of them. His eyes where dar and he exuded danger. His moves where abrupt.

-You - he exclaimed, and he spit .- Stand up. The princess wants to see you - he said in ancient Norwegian.

Aziraphale stood up, slowly. He was had too many questions at the point of his tongue, and he had to restraint himself with all his self-control not to begin an interrogatory. Something told him his constant usual babbling would not be welcomed. As maybe he was very chatty, but he was not stupid. The danger that emanated from the man was so strong he forgot he was dreaming. He gulped.

The man was looking at him as he wanted to kill him. Maybe he was. Aziraphale did not need powers to see the hatred in his eyes.

Once he was in front of the door, the viking opened it. He used some kind of old keys that made a unpleaseant noise. He could heard his heart beating at his ears.

-Follow me, your scum - he ordered. Aziraphale swallowed at the insult, but kept silent.

He followed the man along a very dark corridor of stone, then the cold air of the winter slapped him in the face. He was caught by surprised, but forced himself to keep walking.

He was fully aware of the fact the viking was watching any single of his movements.

He followed him with difficulty, as he walked fast -- probably on purpose -- and he observed with admiration they were entering what seemed an ancient Norwegian palace. He remembered what the man had said "the princess wants to see you".

"Princess"

He fastened his way into the palace, trying to keep calm. He knew he was dreaming, but he had a bad feeling. It hadn't been a pleasant dream until then, there was not reason it become one now.

Before he could realize it, they had arrived in front of a door. It was a huge, massive door with intricate representations of Scandinavian ancient mythology. He repressed a gasp as Aziraphale recognized Yggdrasil, and tried not to feel in vain souvenirs about the Eden.

-Here we are-

A chill run down his spine when he feel the heavy weight of the viking hand.

-Hold a moment. he said. There was something venomous in his voice and his eyes were bolting.

-You are a disgustful little Slave- he hissed, and Aziraphale's blood ran out of his face "and you do not deserve the Mercy the princess is showing you. Swedish. They are strange. Anyway, know that you are scum, and if it had been for me, you would be already dead. After a long torture, of course. Maybe the eagle supplice? You deserve nothing, disgusting little murderer".

Aziraphale felt the air escaping his lungs.

-Wha- -

He didn't managed to finish his sentence. The viking took the opportunity and punche him in the stomach. Aziraphale's breath was cut, and he fell to the ground, panting.

-Scum. Raise. You can't appear before her like that. Although it is where you belong. On your knees.

He lifted him sharply, and Aziraphale suppressed a groan of pain. I felt the tears pile up in his eyes. That blow had been too real.

\- Do not speak again without permission - threatened the Viking.

Before prosecuting because everything hurt so much, or the threat, the doors opened, and he was pushed into the meeting room.

In other circumstances, Aziraphale would have been ecstatic with that sample of Viking culture, or with the beautiful decoration of the place, or with the great and spacious. But he didn't do any of that.

As soon as he had entered the room, stumbling and still holding his aching stomach, his eyes had fallen on the figure that was on the throne.

She was an undoubtedly beautiful woman, and the white dress she wore highlighted her beauty. Her neck was decorated with a silver necklace, and two heavy combat bracelets wore her wrists. She held a spear, a spear that looked lethal.

But that was not what made Aziraphale's legs shake.

As soon as he entered the room, the woman's ice blue eyes fixed on him. They were two tempans that did not predict anything good. She shook his head, watching him more closely, and her long black hair caressed her cheeks.

It was strange to see her with long hair and without the wounds of demons. It was weird to see her without a cloud of insects around her.

But there was no doubt that before him was Beelzebub, Prince of Hell.

And she looked at Aziraphale as if she were going to drive her spear straight into his heart.


	5. The Black Fly

Azira couldn’t breath, but it was not the punch in his stomach that had stolen the air from his lungs. He stared at the woman in front of him, eyes wide with shock.

For a second, he hadn’t recognized her, then a blink of an eye and their eyes had collided. Pale blue against ocean ones. 

There was no doubt. 

Beelzebub was staring at him as if she could pass a hand through his body, size his heart and smash it, and she cearly wanted to do something like that, her eyes two daggers stabbing him into his guts.

She never had looked more beautiful and more deadly. More demonic. 

If was not as Aziraphale had had known a lot of the Prince before that, but it was clearly not the same image that the one that he had had at the airport. Actually, at the moment, nor Beelzebub neither Gabriel had seemed that threatening. The real danger had come from the Horsemen and Satan, and they had managed to fight them. 

But now... a chill ran down his spin as he stood up, hand still on his stomach and trying to calm himself. It ached. A moan escaped him as his legs shaked, and he almost collapsed to the ground. 

Heavens, it had hurt more than he thought. Once again, the idea that maybe any of that wasn’t a dream reached his mind. And it was frightning. 

Beelzebub slightly frowned, and her sight hardened. She clenched her jaw, and her grip on her spear increased. She made a gesture, and someone approached Aziraphale and helped him stand up. It was a guard that seemed as rought as the one that had hurt him, but he didn’t say a word. He just stood there, his hand on Aziraphale’s harm, as a reminder he couldn’t do as he pleased. 

A mumbling came over the room. A room that was not as empty as Aziraphale had thought at first. He gave a quick glance around him. There was a lot of people there in fact. A lot of faces he had never seen before. They were talking low, glancing at him. Some of them had murderous glaces, others just looked out of curiosity. A few had a smirk on their faces, as if it was a spectacle. As if Aziraphale was a joke.

He gulp, sensing the pression of those stares rising around him. Then Beelzebub rose, and everybody shut up. From the way they were standing at a respectful distance from the throne and how they looked at Beelzebub as she had possessed all the wisdom and knowledge in the world. 

It was such an odd sight . 

It was weird to see her in such a pose of esplendor and power. Her figure on the throne was more imposing than ever, he almost could see the waves of power, self-confidence and pride emanating from her person.He couldn’t sense it, not in this non-sense of a dream, but it was obvious.  
Her sight was fierce, though her pose and demeanour was collected. Aziraphale observed her as she approached, slowly, very slowly, and he gulped as he could see her better now. 

He had never imagined her without the many scars, dirt and dust that covered almost any demon he had encountered before - Crowley being the unique exception - so it was strange to see that below all that hideous marks was smooth, ivory skin. Her curves where smooth, and she was as petite as he reminded. Her hair was incredibly long and raven-black, and seemed soft, it shinned, not the short, messy hair he had seen before. 

-So, apparently, the imprisonment had a little effect on our murderer - she spoke when she was near to him. She stood in front of him, looking coldly at him, analysing every inch. She seemed displease, but he had no clue for what. 

Aziraphale felt so exposed. She still had her spear with her, he noted. He trembled a little, he felt so exposed. 

Then she turned to the court. 

\- I think - she raised her tone - that I had asked for him to be treated well - Aziraphale blinked, he didn’t understand, she seemed furious. 

\- But your Highness!... - someone protested. 

\- There is not buts - she cut. - Look at him. He is weakened, he looks like he has been laying in mood for an eternity and he still has blood all over his face -- 

-He had what he deserved! - someone shouted. Beelzebub clenched her eyes . 

\- You are not the one to decide that - 

\- Princess Behald he tried...- 

\- I know very well what he tried! - Beelz-not, Behald, exclaimed - do you think I am stupid, Björn? - 

\- Of course not, Princess - 

\- He should be dead! - someone said, and that made it. Everyone begun to shout and talk at the same time. 

\- Dead and buried! -

\- He is a spy! -

\- He is a Slave!-

\- Kill him - 

\- Serve the Gods! - 

Aziraphale swallowed. 

\- Enough! - and everybody stopped talking. The tension was increasing and Aziraphale felt as he was losing his stability. 

-How you dare? - she exclaimed - That is NOT your decision to make - she emphasized the not. 

At that someone laughed, and everybody went silent for good. Aziraphale could sense the tension peaking. 

He trembled. That laugh....was crystal clear, and the most scaring laugh he had heard. It was frantic, and erratic. 

Behald frowned even more than before, if that was possible. 

\- You find it laughable ? - she hissed. 

Aziraphale followed her stare. The person who was laughing was near to a column, so he hadn’t noticed her before. She was almost hiding in the shadows, but he could tell it was a feminine figure. She seemed to had long hair. 

\- Very- the woman answered - how you try to be authorial...when you have not authority here - 

\- I don’t have time for your jealousy - 

\- Oh, but I am not jealous, princess. I am only stating the truth - the other answered, and she left her hiding spot. 

Damn - he thought. 

In front of him stood War.

She looked at Behald with a defiant look. 

\- I am a princess - Behald answered. 

\- Ohhhh, you are - she smirked, and her teeth were sharp. She headed to Behald, a hand on her hip. It was like a stone looking at a mountain, she was much taller that Behald, and she had dangerous curves Aziraphale had not noticed at the airbase, because she was wearing a warrior motorbike outfit, ‘cause of course she was War herself and she had been ready to fight, but now he could see the dangerous, almost outrageous curves that where sublimed in that red dress and oh heavens- what is even allowed to have such a stretched dress? -. Her hair was picked up in an complex braid that only allowed some rebellious wicks to escape over her neck, which was slim and long, and eyes were two burning fires, in an orange shade that Aziraphale hadn’t seen before. 

She had a rapid glance at Aziraphale, who was frozen on the spot, and then her attention came back to Behald. She begun to walk around her, like a vulture who has find a prey. 

\- You are a princess, indeed -- she caught a lock of Behald’s hair, and hummed and kissed it. Aziraphale felt his cheeks burning -- princess of Sweden, eh? But Sweden is very far from here right now. -

Behald didn’t flinch. 

\- Maybe. I have still more authority than you -

\- Do you ? Do I have to remember you that you are under my brother’s protection? -  
\- I do not need you to remind me, Red. - she hissed - but Jarl Harold is not here. Until then ....-

\- Until then this is my home - Red answered, and her tone became more serious. Her playful smiled almost disappeared. - Do not forget that. In this part of Norway, my family rules. It was Helladir who decided to imprison him until Harold’s return - 

\- But Helladir is no here, is he? - Behald said between clenched jaw, as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. A mumble for the assembling was heard then. What Aziraphale understood was nobility seemed to notice the increasing tension between the two women. Some of them seemed to be enjoying the situation. Others felt concerned.

He felt his throat closing, understanding his precarious position, his heart hammering hard in his chest. 

“Shit - he thought” He cautiously looked at the princess. She seemed really pissed off, and Aziraphale was beginning to wonder if they had forgotten him. Not that he minded. He wanted to disappear. God, couldn’t he just wake up for once? Even if that was a dream, he didn’t wanted to be there more time. 

Red seemed to be in conflict. Her answer had lost her amused tone when she mumbled : 

-He’ s not -

\- No . He is not. Neither are your two other brothers - 

\- Still, do not dare to think you are an authority here, just because they are not here, for now.... -

One of the nobles went a step further, separating himself from the others. He seemed a bit nervous to interrupt. He cleared his throat, before speaking. Even before he heard his voice, Aziraphale already knew he was a pompous bastard. 

\- Pardon my interruption , princess, but Helladir and his younger brother are their way to Kiev in order to arrange this mess. As for young Jorgen, he is sick - he stated. - I agree with Lady Brenda (the redhead mumbled at that “it’s Red”, she said) when she says that we should have kept the prisoner in his cellar-- 

Some of the nobles mumbled in approbation. 

\- Say, Lord Aren -- Behald asked - as you are so interested in talking, could you remember everybody why is so important that Helladir and Liens went to Kiev? -- 

The Lord seemed surprised. 

\- You-- you know well why....- he begun 

\- No, please, I beg you. As apparently Red has to been reminded the complexity of the situation. Enlighten us, Lord Axe. Why couldn’t he wait here the return of Jarl Harold? - she asked him, her voice smooth. Almost nicely. Her eyes, however, where fixed on Red. 

\- ... H-house Kiev is one of the most powerful rising houses in the Slavic area and.....the prisoner is related to them -- he answered. Aziraphale looked at him, surprised.

\- Yes. And now, explain to me what should House Kiev do to your home if they discovered the way they treated one of their princes? - she asked. 

Aziraphale blinked. Prince? Him?

Lord Axe opened and closed his mouth multiple times, not knowing what to say. His voice was hoarse when he mumbled: 

\- I- I am sure that Helladir didn’t pretend the prisoner to be harmed -- he quickly answered, but his voice failed - not even such a treachero-

\- Didn’t he?? -- she asked, her voice cold - Because leaving him five days in a hole without light, a proper chamber and barely something to eat seems like torture to me . 

\- If I may ask, my lady - another man asked, he was a bit younger than Axe; his grey eyes seemed curious - why do you worry so much about his well-being?? -

Red snorted to that, challenging her to answer. 

-I am angry because I do not wish to provoque a conflict with House of Kiev!! I should not been the one thinking about avoding problems, it should be you - she pointed around her -- this is not my country, in the name of the Allfather, and still seems I am far more concerned for it’s future than you! I mean, it’s so obvious! This territory was already weakened by the previous war with Sigurd from Kattegat, and your are really telling me that you want to threaten the fragile peace your father gained for you?? --

Her voice was burning ice against the stone walls of the room. Aziraphale couldn’t stop looking at her. He had never really seen her commanding anything, but at that moment he understood why Beelzebub was Satan right hand.

Her words had had an effect. Lord Axe had blushed, as a kid who is being reprimanded for having disobeyed. He clearly was ashamed, and just for a second, Aziraphale pitied him. 

Only Red seemed unimpressed. Aziraphale wondered if she was doing it on purpose. 

\- Very wise words, but you seem to forget that that peace -she almost spit that word, as if it was something disgustful- was threatened when he attacked you- 

Aziraphale felt his mouth his mouth open idiotically. He had attacked Belz- Behald? Him? Never in his wildest dreams....Holy Hell, then the blood...? His brain was going 300% faster than ever again, as he scanned around him with worried eyes. He quickly looked at the princess for any injury she might have, but he didn’t see any of that. And again, he was supposed to have been in a cell for five days, maybe he had hurt her but she was recovering? 

Something was heavy in his stomach. He felt worried, He felt guilty. And most of all, he was growing impatient, and so fucking so...tired. 

“This....this is no dream” he slowly realized.

His attention was catch back to the two women, still discussing. 

\- Yes, he attacked me. And that is why , in the absence of the Jarl, I should be the one deciding his fate -

\- You Swedish are just completely crazy- Red answered- If I were you, I would have executed him the very second he tried to lay a hand on me - 

\- That is the thing. - Behald murmured, and her eyes landed back to him- That he didn’t lay a hand on me. What is more, he killed his complice the moment he tried to cut my throat with his sword. - 

Red snorted. 

\- You must be kidding me - 

\- I am not. - Behald answered, and she approached Aziraphale. He gulped. Her eyes where so icy. A chill ran down his spine. 

\- He was going to kill you! - Red seemed angry. It was almost as she cared for Behald, but for what he had witnessed, it was not the case. Was it?- We found the conspiring letter. We found the weapons in his valet chamber! Zdravko comploted to kill you while you are my brother protégée and....-

\- That is why it is particularly important to treat the prisoner well. I do not want to make things worse that they already are. And I want Zdravko - Aziraphale frowned, then realized that must be him - to explain me who ordered him to kill me and why. But most of all I want him to explain why he changed his mind in the end. I need answers. But I would get none if the prisoner is leaking strength - there was a silence after that, as if the logic of the princess’ words was sinking into the audience. 

\- You know what? Fine! - Red was losing her patience - Do whatever you want with him! - She passed Behald and reached him. Before he could react, she was on him. She ripped the necklace from his chest. A little cry of shock escaped from his lips. That had been rude. She hold him by the hair and this time, it was a proper scream that escaped his lips, pain flashing before his eyes. Not a dream -Do you mind if I take this back? It belonged to my mother - she spit, her tone dark. She looked at him, then at the necklace - how ironic. The gem matches your eyes. Quite beautiful , I must say. Never liked blue eyes. Treacherous souls they hide. Her grasp on Azira’s her intensified. 

\- Red, stop this - Behald ordered. But Red wouldn’t listen. - You don’t need it anymore. It was an offering of peace, but obviously you do not want this. 

-Brenda! - Behald insisted. Red turned to her, her grasp still in Aziras’ hair who was patting. 

\- No! You wanted answers, didn’t you? So I am giving the answers. Come on Zdravko, you little excuse of a prince. Tell us! What did you intended? Was all this Gunnar’s plan?? - 

Aziraphale chocked for air. Answer something you stupid angel! The panicked thought hit him. He could feel the commotion around him. The nobles agitating. 

\- OK, enough.- Behald sighed - You all - she pointed at the nobility- leave. 

Nobody moved. Their looks where so unsure.  
\- I said, LEAVE! - she insisted. - I’ ll manage the prisoner and Red, I do not want you here. 

\- But, prin-

-There is no but - she snorted - leave this room and only come back when Harold arrives! - 

They left. Aziraphale was nearly conscient of it, he still had Red over him. 

\- So? - she insisted. 

\- I don’t...I don’t know....- the Norwegian words escaped his lips, and just then he remarked he had a little Slavic accent. For God’s sake, had he even lost control over his own speech? - 

The answer didn’t amuse Red. 

\- You...you don’t know? - she hissed, and she tightened her caught on him, making him scream. - Do you think we are stupid? Do you think that will save you? - Aziraphale screamed when she slapped him in the face - Now you have lost your speech, haven’t you!? - she asked, her eyes two orange fires burning with fierce determination and a hint of hate - you shouldn’t shut up at the reception, and now you are mute? I am going to take the truth out of you, you little--!

\- I said stop !- Behald cried, and she caught the hand that was raising to slap again. Her icy eyes were on Red. She was smaller and weaker than Red, and it was difficult for her to restrain the redhead movements. 

\- Are you fucking crazy? - the black haired woman asked. - You are doing things worse! - 

\- He claims he doesn’t know Red exclaimed - he is mocking us! Taking us for fools and I do not - 

\- Release him - Behald ordered between teeth. 

Red didn’t. She looked again at Aziraphale, but she couldn’t move. 

\- Answer!- she spat.

Aziraphale could feel the tears drowning from his eyes, his cheeck still burning from the slap. Something broke inside of him. 

\- I do not know - he answered. It was the only truth he knew. The only truth he had to offer. - I do not know , i do not know, I don’t understand. I....I am lost. P release me, please, please...-- he murmured. 

-Brenda, release him, right now - Behald insisted. Her hand was still gripped around her other arm - He doesn’t seem to remeber! - 

\- He is clearly lying to us - she said, realising him. Aziraphale’s knees hit the floor as he gasped for air, still sobbing. 

Stay calm, she left you, stay calm, stay calm...

Behald was going to say something, when the doors opened, and a figure entered the room.Still on the floor, Aziraphale looked at the new person, but his eyes were full of tears, disturbing his vision. 

\- Lay another hand on him again, and I swear to Odin that I will cut your hand off -- it was a deep voice, slightly muffled by the kind-of-scarf he was wearing. 

\- Jarl Harold - Red said. She looked pissed, as if the fun was about to end. Maybe it was. She moved her arm to get rid off Behald. 

The man was tall, and he was wearing dark clothes, clothes that were wet and soaking the ground. A lightning flashed out of the window. It was crazy raining. 

He seemed strong, and powerful, and that was the reason , Aziraphale will understand later, he didn’t recognize him at first. A dark hood was over his face, but his voice was cracked, deep and....beautiful, he thought with swallow, as his breathing slowly came back to normality. . What was wrong with him?

\- Sister - he greeted, and Red gave him a vicious smile. - He was told what was happening by confused nobles. I must say I do not appreciate any of this. -

-Oh you did? What a timing - she said - did you have a good trip, my Liege?.- 

Harold sighted. 

\- Just the usual. The Baltic are.....difficult to negotiate with -

Read smiled, a predatory smile. 

\- Oh. Did you have to convinced him with your sword? - she asked. Aziraphale followed her stare. The sword that was hung up to the new coming man was still stained in blood.

\- Some people just do not listen. They reminded me of you, dear sister - 

She giggled. Aziraphale was becoming to hate her, but what did he had expected? She was War. 

\- By the way, they now have a new chief. Some presumptuous jerk I don’t like the sightless, but we had our alliance. And of course, the tribute - He gestured behind him, and Aziraphale could see there was two other men that carried what seemed a very heavy trunk. 

\- You are late - spoke Behald.

\- I am? - he asked, and he approached her. He 

-Yes. By two days - 

\- There was a storm. Thor seems pleased by how the negotiations went - 

\- Or by the bloodbath - Red said. She still hadn’t moved, as she was waiting any opportunity to attack Aziraphale again. 

\- Not anything in life is about violence, Red. But that is clearly not something you understand - Harold answer as he sit on the throne. By the way his body laid, on it, he seemed exhausted. - Now stay away from him - he pointed at Aziraphale - before I throw you out off this room.

Red stared at him for a few seconds that Aziraphale found well too long , she left his side. He sighed in relief, as she actually went to the trunk, and began moving the war treasure it had inside. She was looking at a ring, doing her best to ignore the others, but the necklace she had ripped off Aziraphale’s chest was still in her right hand, and she was holding it thihgly. - At least I- she mumbled- m not feared nor ashamed of praising the gods - 

Behald sighed. 

\- So childish - she said, then she turned to front Azirapahale. 

She approached him, and laid a hand on his back. He shivered. Her touch was gentle, even if her expression was cold. 

\- Come on. Get up - she said. Aziraphale did as he was told. Then he almost fall, and Behald had to hold him. A flash of guilt passed through him. Had he really kill her? And still she was helping him?

\- Where are my brothers? - he asked. Aziraphale couldn't see here as he was leaded by Behald to a chair he hadn’t noticed before. - Helladir went to Kiev with Fenrir ....Jorgen is sick this morning - she explained

\- Again? - he asked 

\- Again. You know he is fragile - 

\- Maybe if he ate a little bit more he wouldn’t - 

\- He hates eating - Red commented and returned to her activity of looking for the finest jewel she could find. 

\- Helladir acted too fast. I do not trust Gunnar. Didn’t trust him before all this. -

\- Is that your words or your little lieutenant one’s? -Behald asked. 

\- Careful, Black Fly - 

Aziraphale heard the little nose of disagreement Behald made before helping Aziraphale sitting. He suddenly felt exhausted. 

\- Better - Harold said in an appreciative tone. Aziraphale looked at him. 

And then his heart stopped. 

The Jarl had taken off his dried clothes while they have been talking. 

He had it long, very long, a mane he hadn’t seen since the garden. It was collected in a brad with multiples decorations that lost themselves between the auburn hair. 

And Aziraphale would recognize that hair anywhere. In any time. In any universe. 

It was the hair he loved. 

He looked at the face. Everything was exactly the same, except for the fact it wasn’t. It was him,his beloved face, that lips he had longed for for six hundred years, his handsome face. He noticed how he was bald at the sides of his head, just in the viking fashion. He noticed the snake tattoo that burned in his left hand and crawled all along his body, his neck, head. He noticed the look he was giving at him, and those golden eyes with no trace of the serpentine irises that were judging him. The eyes were the most different . Not a trace of demonic presence. Just human. But still... still they where special, beautiful. Unique. 

It was Crowley. 

Aziraphale felt his heart racing like never before. It was overwhelming. Dizzing. In normal circumstances, he would have just stopped the muscle, his corporation didn’t really needed one. 

But those were no normal circumstances. He had done such a wonderful job trying to deny the reality he was in, but not more. He was human, he was trapped in another reality, one he didn’t know the rules of, and the only thing he knew for sure was that if his heart continued to race like that, he was going to have a heart attack. 

\- Well, now - Harold talked, and Aziraphale could see he was bare chest, and god, wanted he to kill him?He couldn’t separate his eyes of that torso- You are going to tell me everything. - 

Aziraphale gulped. Explain?? How was he supposed to explain anything??

\- Because, if you don’t I swear to the Aesir that you’ll regret the very moment you landed a feet in my territory. 

The gold eyes were on him. Aziraphale almost couldn’t think. The only coherent though in his head was “Crowley, Crowley, Crowley”

\- You tell me. Why did you attacked the Black Fly ? - 

There was a tense moment, then Aziraphale let a sob escape. 

\- I...I do not remember it -


	6. Chapter 5: The Crow

After what seemed an eternity, Aziraphale was allowed to have some rest in a room. He was so tired, he didn’t have time to even look at the person who was next to him when he entered the space. If he had done , he would have seen the golden eyes of Harold in his back, the slightly curiosity that sparkled in them. 

The Jarl didn’t stop looking at him until the door what closed. He felt at the verge of tears, he was going to faint from tiredness. 

The interrogatory had been very long. Behald and Crowley - Harold, but as well as he could understand he was in another dimension and Beelzebub’s name was Behald, it was difficult to see Crowley as anything else as Crowley - had asked so many questions he had already forgotten half of them. Behald seemed eager to understand, as it was, he at least had understood that, a life-or-die matter. Or maybe it was that, even now he had understood, deeply, completely an hurtfully understood he was alone and lost in a world he didn’t know no controlled, that Behald was even more frightening as the viking lady than she was as Lord of Flies. 

Not that he had seen her that many times, still, he remembered very well her at the airbase. Felt like yesterday - then, with shocked and sudden realization, it actually was yesterday, for God’s sake - and she had been a menace, then she had become a real one at the trial, the trial they had overdue. 

But until then, it was only that. A first distant, then close menace, a demon that , just as Gabriel, could ruin everything Aziraphale had come to love. 

Now it was different. It could seem illogical, but now she was only a woman, she was far more frightening and fascinating. He had understood, that Behald was ready to do what she estimated necessary to protect her and her father’s kingdom -Sweden- and maybe even her host territory. 

Behald and Cr-Harrold seemed pretty close. There was none of the cold tension that the princess had shared with Red, and after more than six thousands years of knowing him, Aziraphale was able to elucidate when the shadow of a smile was dancing in his lips due to fondes, or when, even without that serpentine features in them, his golden eyes became softer. 

There were slightly movements he had come to know and love, and they were usually directed to him. Him, and the few humans the demon had come to appreciate: Mahoma in Arabia, Leo Da Vinci when they were in Florence, Frida Khalo so so long ago, Marie Curie, who sadly was deceased too early, Freddy Mercury... and the kids too. Crowley had always had a soft spot for kids. 

Six thousand years that now seemed to never have existed, lost into the void, and that hurt more than anything, more even - and Aziraphale had never though that it was posible - that knowing he had lost his grace. It was as if someone had ripped out his heart, soul, his core. 

With a crooked smile, Aziraphale made some tentative and heavy steps in direction of the bed, and he let himself fall into the couch. 

A a strange noise, a mixture of a scream and a nervous laught, escaped his lips. 

“I need to sleep” he thought, his eyes already half-closed. 

That night, Aziraphale slept for a long time, with pleasant dreams about the time in Eden. He quite enjoyed the sleeping. 

Crowley would have been , oh so proud of him. 

******************  
Harold came back to the meeting room once Zdravko- who, for some reason, claimed his name to be Aziraphale- had close the door. The Jarl looked at that wooden door for a few minutes. The whole situation was completely crazy and the redhead still didn’t understood many things. The only elements that were cristal clear to him, were that he had done a long and tiring trip in order to gain allies and peace, and now that peace was being compromised by that Slavic prince. 

He sighed, it was infuriating, but for some reason he was more upset on his brothers for leaving Norway in what seemed a suicide trip before he had come back than with Zdravko. 

Of course, his opinion might have been a bit different if the young blond and, seemingly, amnesic prince, hadn’t in the end saved Behald’s life. If that had been the case, he would probably had sacrificed him to the gods himself. 

A chill ran over his spin at the idea of the little Fly dying, when he had promised his father he will protected her. His word was worth be take for. His heart raced a bit at the idea something really bad - more even that the threat of a coming war with the Rus - could have been done to Behald. He would never, ever, accept it to her, but the idea was terrifying. 

Because he had grown to like her, despite her continuous annoyance. 

He trembled a little. 

“Luci is right” he thought “I am so weak sometimes ... I shouldn’t get attached to people...” Alliance were fragile things, despite they were importants. What if Swedish was got tired of the not-so-indulgent obedience of Jarl Harold Norwegian territory?

He couldn’t count on Behald, even if he damn liked her a lot. Even if sometimes, he wanted to be completly open with her and consider her a real friend. 

He had be longing for a friend for so long...

There has been Hash, but that bastard had abandoned him in the most cruel of ways. Now he was a rampant expelled viking, and he could swear on his honor that if he saw him again, he will kill him. 

Then, there was Luci... but could he really consider him a friend?

Their relationship was complicated to say at least. 

“Do not think about him right now. Focus on the problem. Focus on avoiding a diplomatic incident with House of Kiev. ” 

The thing was, as much as he perfectly saw the problems that could come with the whole situation - and he was pretty sure it could be even worse, as many details seemed to be amiss -that he hardly could consider Zdravko a menace. 

Actually, the boy inspired pity to him. He seemed so lost, so utterly confused and innocent. During the whole interrogatory, he had done his best to answer their questions, with, taking into consideration the quite assertive and invasive character of Behald, and the clearly clueless situation he was in, was a lot; but for the experimented man he was it was clear that he seemed at the verge of losing his mind. 

He had seen those mesmerizing blue eyes went almost blank of doubt and fear, and for some reason he had come to think he couldn’t see him suffering more. It was evident it had been exhausting days for that man. Something moved in Harold's core, and before he could even know, he was asking Behald to stop. 

“Enough” had he said, and he had put a hand on the prince’s elbow. “Look at him, Behald. I do not think you’ll get more answers from him”

Behald had made a strange face, and before he can stop himself, Harold was helping the foreigner and followed him to the room, under the cold and judging stare of Behald icy eyes. 

Well, it would be more correct to say that he looked out the man didn’t faint, because he kept his distance. Actually, at soon as he had put his hand on the foreigner’s arm, that one had begun to tremble as a leaf in the wind. Harold tried not to grimace in front of that rejection, and he made his better not to scare the prince more than he already had. He was aware, now he thought, that he had surely appeared very intimidating. 

He was known for being severe, and to had not mercy at the battlefield, and that reputation was well earned. 

Harold knew about the implications of being too soft in a viking society. The dirigeants that had so uncommon threat of character had been appreciated, and they have found a quick death.

If it had been only for him, Harold would have not mind being a bit softer, but he had responsibilities. His people and his siblings counted on him. Even if they were reckless and violent, it was still his family. 

So Harold, who didn’t lack vaillance or determination, had become as hard as everyone had expected him to be, even if not explicitly. He had become a warrior, he had become a leader he never felt he was, he had become the nightmare of those who had had the bad idea of making of him an enemy. 

He was not particularly cruel or sadistic, he tried always to be as fair as possible, but he was strict and remorseless. He couldn’t doubt, he couldn’t regret his actions. He was already unforgivable for so many things. It came with the job description. 

“Demon” had called him some Christians fiends. Yes...maybe he was a demon, but as long as he did what he had to do, what he knew it was right, he would keep going. 

Not that he had a choice, really. 

Though, most of people called and knew him as the Crow. 

That suited better him. He kinda liked it. Crows where intelligent , crows had mesmerizing colours, but most of all, they were Odin’s messengers and counsellors. The Allfather’s best companions, Hunin and Munin, the thought and memory of the world. The path to wisdom. 

Even as if he didn’t tend to express it a lot, Crowley took himself for a smart person, and he had always sought knowledge. Not in the fussy way some Christian priest did, as Luci has explained him more than once, with a mocking grin on his features, no, just out of curiosity. 

The crow had always been awfully curious. As a child , he was always asking questions, and he spent long time with the high priestess, those mystical women that knew what the Gods wanted. 

But as time passed, he had become more discret about his curiosity, knowing it was not his most admired characteristic. 

Which didn’t mean he wasn’t interested anymore in learning new things. 

Still, Harold knew his nickname didn’t come from that, but for how he dressed on the battlefield, his dark robes and his mysterious stare. 

Nevertheless, Zdravko had passed through so much. He should never have been in prison for so long, in that he agreed with Behald, and even if he didn’t want to discuss the matter so early , Red and him had had to have a conversation. A very long conversation. 

Zdravko was silent during all the way. He seemed a ghost, he was pale and he was carefully avoiding to look at the Jarl. Harold tried not to feel much offended, but there was something more. 

The prince seemed not only scared, looking at the blood in his hands as if it was some strange thing he couldn’t understand and not the fluid every single human has in its body. Being scare was completly natural, but what slightly concerned Harold was he seemed immensely shattered. 

Something made a strange jump in his chest, and he didn’t know why.

“He needs to sleep” he had though, and he couldn’t but feeling a bit guilty about the whole situation.

That was his fate. Feeling, and worse, being guilty about everything. He was damned. 

He tried not to fall into self-criticism as he entered the hall.


	7. Chapter 6: The son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody. So sorry for the inmense amount of time between publications, I got very busy on summer, and there where other priorities, but I never stopped thinking about this story and here is chapter 7!! Hope that you enjoy it. Please do not doubt of commenting, it gives me life, sharing if you want so and subscribing!. 
> 
> Any question, suggestion or just talk about the fandom is welcome. You can follow me on instagram and tumblr under @mimuranda too. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Behald was still there. She was drinking hydromel, and seemed in deep thought. That, or maybe had she drunk enough and now she was on the verge of delirium. Hydromel was strong enough. It was a drink for warriors, for gods, and for heated celebrations, it was intended to be drunk before a battle or in bed with a passionate lover.

Rare were those who drank it in other situations, but Behald was far away on her way to self-indulgence, she had always been stubborn anyway, and she didn’t like to be told what to do.

Therefore, Harold did not comment.

When she heard him enter the room, she offered him her glass. Harold refused it and sat in front of her. He passed a hand through his red mane.

\- Is he sleeping now? - she asked after a moment of silence. The Jarl nodded, and Behald sighed. She seemed a bit tired too. Maybe she was. He couldn’t forget that she had nearly been killed.

\- What do you think about this whole situation? -

\- I think that if I had known that a few weeks abroad would cause this much chaos, I would not have left! This must be Loki’s doing. - the redhead let himself fall into the chair and passed a hand over his face. Suddenly he was so tired- I know Red is impulsive and can barely control herself, but from Fenris? This is disappointing -

\- It always amazes me, that you five are siblings - she commented.

-Only have the same mother - the Crow mumbled as if Behald didn’t know already. He closed his eyes, and the image of the Slavic prince passed behind his lids. He had seemed so broken. Once again, he felt quite guilty. He shouldn’t. The prince was resting now.

\- Well I am glad it was your father that owned this place - Beelzebub commented. -Red is insufferable. I can barely stand her -

Harold looked at her.

\- ...-

\- What?- asked Behald.

\- You know she is in love with you, don’t you? - asked Harold. He didn’t even try to be suave about it. He saw Behald turn red.

\- Nonsense -

Harold just waved his hand.  
\- Okay, think whatever you like. - there was silence, as Harold was searching for words. How are you feeling? he wanted to ask, Instead, he stayed silent, and Behald insisted.

\- So now, you haven’t answered my question. What do you think? -she asked- About Zdravko -

Harold adjusted in his seat.

\- I think it must be confusing, to be in his place. I think that I can feel lucky he hadn’t laid a single finger on you- there was a brief moment of discomfort, neither of them was good at expressing their feelings, so he hoped she understood he cared - I think that you did well locking him up in that cell. And I think....that we cannot do anything more. We have to wait -

-Wah. You really have thought a lot about it in the little time you spent escorting the dainty prince -she commented, quite surprised. -I am glad you agree with me about freeing him -

Harold nodded.

\- Of course I am. But Behald - Harold looked at her, his golden eyes slightly sparkling - you were attacked. It should have been your decision. - he voice was as warm as he could manage to be.

It was awkward.

\- I couldn’t let him rot in that cage -

\- In this particular case, I agree. However, I thought you knew better than to pity your enemies. -

Behald looked at him like he had sprouted another head.

\- Oh please! You are not patronizing me about that. - she said disbelievingly -

Harold seemed a bit uncomfortable.

\- Do you realize that he is a Rus? - he asked.

\- Yes. A Rus of house Kiev. I know -

\- They are not our allies -

\- They are not our enemies either. My family were your enemies not two generations ago - her voice was steady - and I pray to the Gods that peace can be maintained, but we could be enemies tomorrow, and you know it as well as I -

-Yes. But we are Vikings. That’s what we do -

\- So are they-

Harold’s features hardened. Until that moment, it had been mostly idle conversation, just chatting, but the vibe changed the moment she stated that.

\- Do not compare us to them - he hissed. - They abandoned us.

Behald didn’t answer that. She didn’t want to get in to it with the Crow.

Harold kept saying:

-Listen, forget that. I am only saying that his brother .... -

Behald groused.

\- I know very well who his brother is, thank you very much -

\- I was only checking -

Behald sighed

-As you said, we need to wait - she answered, and poured her mead.   
Harold nodded.

-As for Zvadkro...well, maybe we should redeem ourselves a bit -

Harold grinned for the first time since his return.

\- That we should -he agreed.

He failed to mention that it was not only for diplomatic reasons, but also because those blue eyes awoke in him a strange feeling of guilt and protectiveness.

**********************

For the first time since the madness had begun, Aziraphale woke up feeling more like himself. He had felt so numb before. But now, as he observed the ceiling of his given room, his senses - well, his limited human senses - he felt awake.

However, awake and self-aware didn’t make his reality easier to accept.

So, Aziraphale laid in bed for at least thirty minutes, and finally, with a heartbreaking sigh, he decided to leave the room. Nobody had come looking for him, so he assumed he was not a prisoner anymore, or at least not as he had been until then. Aziraphale might be human now, but he was not that naive to believe that he could flee.

So after settling himself in this new reality, this heartbreaking reality, he decided to leave the room.

There was nobody in the corridor. He frowned slightly, that was strange, wasn’t it? As far as he knew, Vikings woke up early and were loud as hell. But maybe in Cro-Harold’s palace, things were a bit different.

Or maybe he’d slept in longer than he anticipated. Taking a deep breath and the courage he clearly needed, Aziraphale decided to try his luck and find someone. His rested but somehow still aching body hadn’t forgotten the events he had lived through not two days before, but he needed to find Harold or Behald. He wasn’t expected to wait all morning, was he?

He shivered slightly. It was a cold morning. Norway’s weather was known to be freezing cold even in summer, and Aziraphale was too used to the slightly warmer and much wetter English one. He rearranged his suit. He had been given Viking wearings, his Slavic ones, richer and far more intricate in style, still soiled with dried blood.

Not that he was complaining of having been cleaned, but those clothes had been warmer. That, or he had been too dizzy the previous days to pay attention to the temperature. Probably.

Aziraphale wandered through the space, taking his time. His room was at the end of it, so there was only one way to go. His thoughts wandered as well, lost in his memories.

It had been so long since he’d been in Scandinavia. His last visit had been around 1582, just a bit before definitively settling in London.

It was many centuries lost in his memories, and it had not even been Norway, but Finland. He remembered it though because it was a happy one. Aziraphale had been sent as a French governess for a princess. She had travelled during spring, and she remembered the beauty of the Nordic landscape. Aziraphale had really enjoyed her time there, having a whole library for herself, given presents - particularly delicious dishes from all the world - and being praised by the whole court.

And, as if the Almighty Herself had done it on purpose, she had once again met Crowley. She was a woman too, a trader from the far and exotic Ottoman empire, coming straight from Istanbul; and oh my god how gorgeous she had been in those exotics oriental clothes; and the belly dance she had performed in front of the prince had left jaws on the floor.

Aziraphale had thought she would explode from arousal and desire, already acknowledging her feelings at the time.

Aziraphale’s breath hitched at the memory, his heart pounding in his chest.

Thinking about that didn’t help, as pleasant as it had been.

At the moment, Aziraphale needed to focus, reminiscing and offering him no help. As far as he had seen, which was not very much, this was the high middle ages. It couldn’t be past the Xth century.

He had never been in Norway then.

Aziraphale’s mind was already racing, trying to recall any bit of information he could that he almost hit a wooden door. He took a quick glance. Like any Viking door, it was engraved and decorated. The scenes told tales of the gods. Illustrated there was Odin, the Allfather, reaching towards wisdom. It was the moment the god had given his eye in exchange for infinite knowledge and troublesome wisdom.

Aziraphale quickly looked away, when his eyes stopped at a particular It was sad reminder of precious time lost. He sighed and then pushed open the doors.

There was a moment of silence and Aziraphale almost regretted entering the hall.

-Shit- he thought. He shouldn’t have left his room. What was he thinking? He was a foreigner and accused of murder and...

His rambling thoughts were cut off when Crowle-Harold entered his field of vision. In a second, all his self-confidence fell to the wayside.

Harold was there, talking with his step-sister. He seemed to be in deep conversation with the red woman, he hadn’t noticed Aziraphale had opened the door. Aziraphale gulped. At least the Jarl was fully-dressed this time.

As if things hadn’t been traumatizing enough in this shit of a situation! He needed to concentrate, and certainly, Harold’s strong, tattooed torso would not help.

A sudden sadness overtook Aziraphale. He’d never seen Crowley's body like that before, at least not for centuries. It depressed Aziraphale, knowing how much time he had wasted–more than one lifetime lost to history.. For a terrible moment, doubt crept into his mind. What if Crowley didn’t love him??

For oh-so-long Aziraphale had been sure of Crowley’s love. It had been strange in the beginning, then it started becoming a comforting thought.  
That knowledge was at least one small comfort he had hung on to.   
And it was comforting and infuriating. 

At least before he knew he was the only one the serpent had eyes for, and that filled his heart in a warm sense of being loved. As for the infuriating part, it came because of his incapability to correspond that love. He was such a coward. 

But he had lost his chance. 

Aziraphale sighed, trying to save the last hints of courage. He needed to focus, no matter how dashing false-Crowley was in that Viking warrior's clothes. 

He made a tentative step, then another. The noise around him was overwhelming, Vikings had potent voices and they were talking heatedly. He saw lots of people he hadn’t noticed the day before. Probably warriors that had come back with their master. 

At first, they didn’t notice him either. Then, orange, supernatural eyes fixed on him. Surprise, then rage came across beautiful features. War’s features tensed. False-Crowley (that was the best way to call him, he decided) tensed, then turned around, and golden eyes were on him. 

Their glance was by far kinder than his sister’s. Aziraphale could even see some kind of interest. His heart skipped a beat. “Focus”. 

As the blond advanced into the room, the conversations died, and uninviting glances fell over him. 

\- So, I see our guest is here - commented the Jarl. He was almost next to false-Crowley, looking for something to answer when a black man suddenly entered his vision. Aziraphale tried not to gasp.

Deep brown eyes looked at him with curiosity. He blinked, that face... 

Famine, it was famine! 

The man's sharp features were as unwelcoming as ever, but contrary to the inhuman specter he had seen at the airbase, he seemed more alive. Must be because if he was human, he at least needed to eat. A bit.

Not much, by the looks of it. He had never seen someone that slim. Insecurity grew inside him. He must look very chubby next to the dark-skinned man. He must seem particularly plump and soft among the strong Vikings that were fixing him. 

He blushed, uncomfortable. False-Crowley was looking at him. What did he think about his body? Aziraphale had never felt so ashamed about his corporation, not even when Gabriel had made irritating comments about his looks. He was so lost in self-deprecation the angel had completely forgotten that thicker bodies were a symbol of wealth in medieval times. 

All he could think was he not only had he lost Crowley, but there was no chance that he could seem attractive to false-Crowley. 

But why on earth would he want to please him? What he needed was to fix the situation. Famine was still looking at him, talking about something Aziraphale had lost track of. 

\- Jorgen, just leave him alone. This is not easy for him - 

Something similar to a grin crossed false-Famine’s traits, and Aziraphale could see all-too-well his teeth were sharp. Without a single word, he stepped out of the way. He could see how the young man headed to a nearby table, where there was false-Beelzebub. Had she been there since the beginning? The princess offered the man a pear that seemed positively scrumptious, he declined. She frowned, beating into the fruit herself. 

The scene reminded him he hadn’t eaten since the day before. 

Before Aziraphale could say anything about it, false-Crowley was touching him. He lowered his gaze to see the firm, strong grip of the Jarl on his upper-arm. It was warm. Aziraphale could faint. 

\- You seem to feel better - false-Crowley stated. Aziraphale stared at his lips, then blinked away.- Did you sleep well?- the Jarl inquired. 

\- Yes it...it was a dreamless night, my liege- Aziraphale mumbled politely, trying to control his melting hair at the contact - thank you so much for the rum. 

False-Crowley frowned. 

\- Well, I am glad that you are feeling better. You don’t have to thank me, I am so sorry about that... - he briefly threw a murderous glance at his sister, who defiantly crossed her arms - the misunderstanding we had. And do not.... - he gasped, he seemed uncomfortable - you don’t have to call me my liege. I am not your sovereign. After all, you are a prince, Zdravko. I am certain- his hold on his arm was even more firm, supportive, Aziraphale tried miserably not to think about that - we will find a suitable solution. 

\- I um....- mumbled Aziraphale, overwhelmed by the Jarl’s touch that was now on his elbow and the intensity in his golden eyes. 

False-War grinned at that. 

\- Oh yes. Because his brother is that kind of a diplomat - she laughed bitterly - you know what, Harold? This might be even funnier than I thought - 

To Aziraphale’s disgust, false-Crowley let go of him as the redhead princess leaned in the blond’s direction. 

\- Do not fret love, I am sure you will find the right words to convince both your brother and Behald’s father that it was all some kind of accident - she winked, her eyes dark and threatening. 

\- Just piss off, Red - Crowley hissed. 

Red looked at him as if he had insulted her. 

\- Oh come on! Why can’t I have some fun too? You cannot keep him all for yourself. - 

False-Crowley clenched his jaw. 

\- You have done enough. Out- he insisted. 

False-War looked dangerously at him, but after a tense moment, she capitulated. 

-Yeah, whatever. I hate diplomats, anyway. Have fun with your pet - she added disdainfully. 

Aziraphale furiously blushed at those words, and he looked away. Had he not, he would have seen the slightly red color that stained the Jarl’s cheeks at those words. 

Harold sighed. 

\- I ... you must excuse my step-sister - he finally managed to say - She is incorrigible. I don’t know what I am going to do with her - 

Aziraphale dared to look at him. He seemed worried. 

-It...it is nothing.- 

\- It is not "nothing". She shouldn’t speak like that to you - 

Aziraphale blushed. 

\- I am not that important...- he began. 

The Jarl blinked. 

-Not that important? - he asked with a playful smirk on his beautiful lips - you must be kidding. Look...I know this situation is delicate. But you are my guest. - 

-Guest? - Aziraphale asked- you may mean your prisoner - 

The Jarl seemed uncomfortable. He touched his hair, in a gesture so familiar the ex-angel almost burst into tears. It was something the demon used to do when he searched for words. 

\- I won’t lie to you, you are not free. You are arrested in this palace until either your or my brother arrives. But I can assure you, prince Zdravko, that anything you’ll need, I’ll provide. You can ask me anything. - 

Aziraphale gulped. The only thing his heart wished was to go back home, and false-Crowley couldn’t offer him that. 

He swallowed. 

-Please, stop calling me that - he asked. 

False-Crowley seemed confused.

-Calling you what? - he carefully asked. 

\- Prince. It...it doesn’t feel right - 

The Jarl blinked. 

\- But it is...- 

-Just call me Azi..- Az. Call me Az - he asked, feeling suddenly weak. - Prince Zdravko....it is just too ceremonious - he pleaded. 

False-Crowley looked at him for a long moment in silence, then: 

\- As you wish - 

-Than you, Crowley - the angel said without thinking. Then his blood drained fromhis face. Oh, no, what had he said?!

To his surprise, a genuine smile appeared on the Jarl’s lips. 

\- Oh, apparently that old name is still used - he said amused. 

Aziraphale stared at him. 

-I...-

\- I thought that everybody called me only the Crow, nowadays. But that nickname is still used ,I see - 

Aziraphale blinked. No. No, he mustn’t. If he began calling the Jarl like his demon...something inside him broke. He began to feel the first hints of anxiety reaching through his body. 

No, he could not mix everything up. He...

\- I am sorry - he said, his mouth dry - I..it was not appropriate - 

The Jarl made a dismissive movement. 

\- It is ok - he assured. - I must apologize too. Yesterday...I acted severely. Too serious. I am sorry if...if I scared you - he finished. His face was still stern, but his eyes seemed apologetic. 

Aziraphale's soul trembled. 

\- You don’t have to... - 

-I do. It’s just. You have to understand, Az. I must be fair. It is not always easy. I hope the negotiation with your brother will go well - 

Aziraphale closed his mouth. False-Crowley seemed sincere, but even he could read the hidden message behind those words. 

It was a kind reminder. 

Do not mess with me. 

Conquering the fear that threatened to take over he opened his mouth to ask something. Talking always helped. Aziraphale was good at talking. It was just he didn’t know where to begin. There were so many questions. Then a sudden thought came to mind. Everybody had been talking about his brother. 

Who the hell...?

But at that moment, a cry interrupted them. A boy was running through the hall. A wide smile spread across his face, as he bumped into false-Beelzebub. She smiled, holding him tight. 

\- Hey little spawn. I see you woke up with so much energy - she teased. The boy smiled even more. 

\- Dad is back! - he exclaimed, his long, dark hair moving with his head. 

Aziraphale knew that voice. 

You might think, dear reader, that at that point, Aziraphale should have been expecting to recognize everybody, but with all the Armageddon’t stuff and turn of events, it was quite a shock to see him again. 

He blinked, dumbfounded. The boy fixed his gaze on Aziraphale.His throat went completely dry.

Warlock. It was Warlock. The boy Crowley and him had been taking care of for almost six years. Well, it was not him, but still! 

Something similar to joy was awakening inside him for the first time since thisnightmare had begun, until the boy waved, and false-Beelzebub’s words hit him. 

-Go say hello to your father, little one - 

Warlock headed to false-Crowley. The strong arms of the Jarl raised the boy in the air as he enfolded him in a tight hug.

\- Did you miss me? - the Jarl asked, gold eyes brightening with love. 

And it sunk in his chest like a rock. 

It hurt, and it enraged him like nothing before had done. 

For the first time in his long-life existence, Aziraphale damned Her name. 

My son, the redhead had said. 

So if he was Warlock’s father...who was the mother?


End file.
